


Precedent

by Cloudnine101



Series: Hex [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Friendship is Magic, Gen, Growing Up, Kid Fic, Pre-Slash, Short, Slytherin Pride, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Apparently, Enjolras Huffelpuff is a Slytherin. No doubt his however-many-great grandmother would have been overjoyed.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precedent

_1._

 

As it turns out, Enjolras Hufflepuff is a Slytherin. No doubt his however-many-great grandmother would have been overjoyed.

His mother certainly isn't. If anything, she's a little bored. "That's nice, darling," her howler screeches. "Do get in touch if you need anymore clean parchment. I remember how frightful it was in my day." This is accompanied by a delicate shudder, and a _ta-ra, sweeting._

The boy on the other side of the bench clutches his hands to his oversized ears, tie flopping around comically. Enjolras rolls his eyes, and carries on buttering his slice of toast.

 

 

That night, Enjolras sends a polite yet detached letter of thanks (via owl - Howlers are far too vulgar), and then burns every piece of parchment her mother ever bought for her in the fire. A nice girl in his room turns the flames purple. It's all very quaint, if a little smoky. The boy with the ears giggles. 

 

 

Enjolras's surname, of course, is a cause of some concern. Stick enough rats in a barrel, Enjolras's father had gravely informed him (over the top of Wizarding Weekly), and one of them shall inevitably chew the other to bits - or something of that sort. Enjolras wasn't really paying attention at the time.

He sorts out the issue soon enough, though. All it takes is a few well-placed - almost conversational - murmurs, and all of a sudden, Combeferre Longbottom is hanging upside down from his trousers into the gentlemen's toilets. That _does_ shut the others up.

 

 

The first trip to Hogsmeade is a little tricky - namely, because, despite being the charming person he is, Enjolras has yet to decide on a suitable group of friends. They are too ugly, too mean, too plain and too dull by turns. Quite honestly, none of them match up to his standards. He'd rather spend his evenings in his own company,

Before he met Combeferre, he hadn't considered other houses. Hufflepuffs are out automatically, and all of the Ravenclaws are frightful snobs. Gryffindor, on the other hand - Gryffindor is interesting. Bravery is interesting. Stupid, but - interesting.

"I can show you how to turn your hair green," Enjolras informs the Gryffindor seeker - the youngest ever, apparently - and, just like that, he has his first friend.

 

 

Combeferre's pleasant, really - almost too pleasant, until he gets cross. Then his hair practically stands on end. It's amusing, in a strange sort of way. Whenever Combeferre's around, Enjolras gets the strangest urge to leap up on the table and do something drastic. It must be a potion of some sort.

"Do you know," Combeferre says, "you're a lot funnier than I thought you were."

"Thanks," Enjolras says. Bending over his charms homework, he considers. "What's the name of the boy in my house? The one with the ears."

"That'd be Marius." Combeferre stares off into the distance. "I'd have thought he'd be in Hufflepuff, but he has this - thing about him. He's a bit selfish, really, in an abstract way."

"I like him," Enjolras decides, and that's the end of the conversation.

And thar's the first year over and done with, just about. 

 

_2._

 

As it turns out, Enjolras is absolutely brilliant at meeting people. There's Combeferre, obviously, and Marius with his ears, and Courfeyrac from the toilet, and Éponine with the green hair and the purple sparks. 

And then there's Grantaire. He's in Hufflepuff, in the year above. Generally, he slopes around the upper rooms, pranking the first years. Now that he's in his second year at the school, Enjolras is too old to appreciate his efforts. Still, he can't help but feel a kind of grudging admiration for him. It takes bravado to maintain that level of achievement.

After Grantaire's third detention that month, Enjolras corners him. Grantaire sidles out of the classroom, right into the path of Enjolras's waiting hand. Grantaire stops, and stares. His eyes are a very bright blue.

"Let go of me," Grantaire says, voice a deep, heavy growl. It sticks to Enjolras's ribs.

Enjolras does let go. He berates himself for the rest of the day.

 

 

"You should just hex him," Éponine advises, before returning to her perusal of the Ravenclaw bench. There's a girl sitting there - blonde curls, big eyes. "That'd shut him up."

Marius nods sagely. He takes a slurp of his pumpkin juice, and sets it down on the table. There's a dribble of it running down his lip.

"Maybe," Enjolras mutters. "We'll see." 

He spends the evening trying out the hair-dying trick on Marius, and wondering what Grantaire would look like with pink curls. 

He doesn't see Grantaire such, after that. Enjolras does, however, ace his Charms class. He isn't overly surprised. 

 

_3._

 

Third year. Enjolras is sitting in the train in his own compartment, trying desperately to ignore the fifth years down the corridor and finish the last of his Muggle Studies work. Combeferre has gone off somewhere with Courfeyrac, and Éponine's on extended holiday with her cousins - she'll be back in the second week, she said. Nobody ever knows what Marius gets up to.

"I'm going to sit down," Grantaire tells him, "and you're not going to speak."

Enjolras jerks a nod. His heart leaps to his mouth. Setting aside his textbook, he considers patting the space next to him, and decides against it. 

Grantaire dumps his bag on the bench. Drawing a chocolate frog from his pocket, he pops it between his lips. He chews slowly. Enjolras watches.

"So," Grantaire says. "What's your name?"

Enjolras keeps his lips buttoned, staring down at the floor. This makes Grantaire laugh, for some reason he can't fathom. When he chuckles, his eyebrows almost touch his hairline. It's oddly fascinating. 

 

 

After that, inexplicably, Enjolras can't shake Grantaire. He trails after him to his lessons, only a few steps behind; whenever Comebeferre or Marius appears, he sidles away, completely ignoring Enjolras's pointed stare of disapproval.

"Who's that?" Éponine asks, picking at one of her nails. They're halfway to Herbology, which is not precisely Enjolras's cup of tea. "'Cause I could totally take him." Éponine smirks. She's sure of herself. 

Enjolras snorts. "No, you couldn't," he says. "He's too good for all of us." 

 

 

That night, he finds six dozen chocolate frogs on his pillow, neatly arranged into a triangle. Enjolras supposes it's as much of an apology as he's going to get. He'll accept. 


End file.
